


Soft Light

by theskywasblue



Series: Summer of Love 2020 [9]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:40:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26077372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theskywasblue/pseuds/theskywasblue
Summary: He’s so solid andrealbeneath Steve’s hands that it makes Steve dizzy, every single time they’re together like this.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Summer of Love 2020 [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1816525
Kudos: 71





	Soft Light

**Author's Note:**

> For the Summer of Love and the prompt "Morning Sex".
> 
> Listen, nothing is going to ever, ever, ever make me believe that Steve didn't visit Bucky in Wakanda. That's impossible. In 2 years? You have got to be joking.
> 
> That being said, in this house we take the MCU cannon as a polite suggestion. Then, we politely toss it out the nearest window and never speak of it again.

The sun rises over the river, spilling gold and purple light across the hills, the houses, and through the small window of Bucky’s hut, turning everything soft-edged and slightly hazy, like a dream. Steve buries his face in Bucky’s ribs, feels Bucky’s warm palm press against the back of his skull and knows it’s real. He’s never dreamed anything this good. 

He can’t get over the simplest things: the salt taste of Bucky’s skin, the way he smells - like fresh river water and sun-fed grass; like goat hair and the spice blend that the villagers use to season just about every meal. He’s smaller now than he used to be when he was on the run; not just because of the missing arm, but because he’s traded the heavy bulk of fighting muscle for the lean sort, earned by hard work and richly nourishing food. He’s so solid and _real_ beneath Steve’s hands that it makes Steve dizzy, every single time they’re together like this. 

“You alright there, Stevie?”

Steve pulls his gaze up to Bucky’s face, delighted by the way that Bucky shivers at the drag of Steve’s beard against his skin. “Mmm - yeah. Why?”

Bucky digs his heel into Steve’s thigh. “Maybe ‘cause I can see the smoke coming outta your ears.”

Steve snorts, drags both his hands down the length of Bucky’s torso to his hips. “Maybe I’m just taking my time. You in a hurry or something? Got somewhere to be?”

“The goats can’t let themselves out for breakfast,” Bucky says, though they plainly can and have. On Steve’s last visit, he and Bucky spent half the day chasing escaped goats through the brush. The village kids thought it was a riot. “And I’ve already waited five weeks.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “I’ve been gone _six_.”

“Yeah, well -“ Bucky grins, shamelessly. “For the first week I kinda enjoy the peace and qui-ah!”

“Smart-ass,” Steve grumbles, without any real venom behind it. He’s already soothing the skin he pinched with slow swipes of his thumb. Bucky’s fingers wind through Steve’s over-grown hair and pull, just enough to make Steve’s breath catch. Steve watches Bucky slide his teeth against his lower lip, blink slow and heavy, and feels like he could absolutely swallow his own heart. 

Sometimes, the distance between wherever he is in the world, and where Bucky is, leaves Steve feeling like he’s tied to two different horses, running in two different directions. _This_ is where he wants to be, and every time he drops his gear bag just inside the door, he thinks he might not pick it up again; but he does. That’s the promise he’s made to himself, to keep fighting. So he leaves, and he _hates_ it; and every time he comes back it feels like putting down a weight he almost forgot was breaking his back.

Steve presses his lips against Bucky’s skin, to the spot right at the center of Bucky’s rib cage where it starts to cave towards his stomach. Bucky exhales shakily, loosening his grip on Steve’s hair, pressing his fingers gently into Steve’s scalp instead, making the skin all the way down the back to Steve’s neck prickle excitedly. He always liked Bucky being just a little rough with him, sweetly, even way back; to prove he knew - even if no one else did - just how much Steve could actually handle. Bucky’s stomach rises and falls, eagerly, beneath Steve’s searching mouth, skin pinked where the whiskers scratch, wet where Steve laps thoughtlessly with his tongue, working his way downwards in no particular hurry. Bucky twists, digs his heels in, squeezes Steve’s arm, but Steve won’t be rushed. 

Bucky’s cock lies heavy on his belly, aching for a little attention. Steve drags the heel of his hand over it, wraps his fingers around the shaft. The muscles in Bucky’s stomach quiver, then settle as he breathes in deep and closes his eyes. 

Steve remembers the first time they did this like it was yesterday - the heady, wild sensation of holding Bucky in his hands, feeling the rush of blood beneath the delicate skin, absolutely trusted with something painfully intimate. Bucky moves almost the same way, breathes the same as Steve guides the silky head of Bucky’s cock past his wet lips - breathes in _mmmm_ , breathes out _ahhh_ ; arches against the bed, twists his fingers in the blankets. Steve feels the same, familiar thrill at the weight of Bucky, pressed into the cradle of his tongue; the same swell of pride as Bucky gasps, shivers, exhales, “Fuck - Steve - God.”

He hopes he gets to feel it every single time. 

A swath of light cuts across the bed, crawls over Bucky’s sweat-slicked, heaving chest. Steve’s free hand traces the line of Bucky’s ribs as he eases Bucky’s cock deeper into his mouth. He loves the pressure of it, the edge of breathlessness he has to ignore as Bucky bumps the back of his throat; the way that he pulls air in through his nose and it’s all Bucky, every single breath and taste and sight and touch and sound. It might be the only time, the only handful of moments, that he doesn’t feel cheated out of all the years they lost. 

Steve presses against Bucky’s cock with the flat of his tongue, cups Bucky’s balls with one hand, drags a blunt fingernail over the peak of Bucky’s nipple with the other. Bucky groans, struggling not to thrust into the tight clutch of Steve’s throat with such shivery, desperate control that it makes Steve’s chest ache. He pulls back, letting Bucky slip free of his mouth with a slow, wet _pop_ , licks over the swollen crown, sucks him in again. Bucky’s stomach tightens, almost hollows. He plants a foot against the bed, but Steve pins the other leg before it can move, palm flat against the soft inside of Bucky’s thigh, so he’s half-still but shivering, gasping as Steve draws him in deep and swallows. Bucky makes a broken noise, hips jerking, and the taste of him - gently bitter - coats Steve’s tongue. 

“God,” Bucky groans, as Steve lets him slip from his mouth. Bucky’s hand is tangled in his own hair, and it takes him a minute to work the fingers free of the strands, distracted when Steve kisses tenderly at the hollow of his throat, then at the velvet warmth of his slack, murmuring mouth. Once his hand is finally loose, he paws at Steve’s shoulder, earning himself just enough room to turn over on his belly and brace against the bed. 

“Don’t you have to let the goats out?” Steve laughs, stroking his hand over Bucky’s back. 

He can almost hear Bucky’s eyes rolling. “I swear to _god_ …”

Steve’s really got the thread of it now, even as he steadies himself across Bucky’s legs and digs both his thumbs into the dimples above Bucky’s ass. “Now, that’s not polite.”

“ _Steve_ ,” Bucky groans. 

Steve rubs his face against Bucky’s back, against his ass, over the backs of his thighs, in a way he knows will leave a burn, at least for an hour or two. “Alright Buck, I’ve gotcha.”

Steve kisses the small of Bucky’s back, palms Bucky’s ass with both hands, his thumbs gently dragging the cheeks apart. Bucky goes still, forehead pressed to his forearm, and doesn’t even try to breathe until Steve leans in and kisses, wet and filthy, right where he intends to open Bucky up. 

And he will, with his tongue first, then his fingers, then his cock; slow and deep the way Bucky likes it best, until the blankets stick to their skin and Bucky’s voice goes hoarse. Until the sun fills up the room and paints all the walls golden-white. 

And later, once they’ve rounded up all the runaway goats, and mended the broken pen, and the heavy heat of the afternoon sets in, Steve will let Bucky drag him back to bed and do it all over again. 

-End-


End file.
